


Home Sweet Home

by sansybones, withtheworms



Series: Rehab Cabin DLC [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, making a good ending sad, rehab cabin DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:38:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7774624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansybones/pseuds/sansybones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/withtheworms/pseuds/withtheworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Rehab Cabin DLC fic by @withtheworms</p><p>Post-Pacifist Ending, with monsters now living on the surface.  Papyrus returns home after several weeks away on vacation to find things with Sans aren’t exactly how he left them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted a million years ago over on tumblr as part of the Rehab Cabin DLC fic/au/extended headcanon by myself and SansyBones. In a nutshell: Resets messed Sans up beyond repair and he has no concept of chronological time. Things get bad before they get better, but nothing's ever really "okay." It's sad! Anyway, there's (lots) more here: http://rehabcabin.tumblr.com/

_ Home sweet home. _

Papyrus waved politely to the taxi driver, shouldering the strap of his bag before he turned towards the house, drawing in a deep breath.  From the curb things looked… okay.  He didn’t know what exactly he had been bracing himself for, but none of the house walls had been blown out, the garage was still in-tact, there was no water cascading out of any windows, and the front lawn looked just the same as it had the day he’d left.  He had to admit, that  _ felt _ like a good sign.  

“Sans?” He rapped his knuckles against the front door, listening intently for the sound of movement from inside.  His keys were somewhere in his suitcase, he hadn’t bothered to get them out, assuming his brother would be home when he arrived.  He didn’t know why-- he hadn’t expressly  _ asked _ Sans to, and it’s not like he’d expect him to be waiting at the arrival gate at the airport-- but he’d been a little disappointed when Sans hadn’t come out to greet him at the curb as he’d unloaded his suitcase from the back of the cab.  

He waited a moment, then knocked on the door again before experimentally trying the handle.  It was unlocked, but pushing against it he felt a resistance, as though something large had been wedged up against it from the other side.  

It was in that moment that something started to uncurl in the pit of Papyrus’ stomach.  A little tremor of unease picking at him from the inside.

“Sans, it’s me.”

He did his best to ignore that the mailbox hung next to the front door was overflowing with a mix of junk and real mail.  Checking the mail had never been Sans’ strong suit, and these things happened, even on his best days.  However, now that he was standing there he could also see that the front step was cluttered with a haphazard pile of week-old newspapers.  He started to do the math to calculate how long he’d been away versus how many newspapers there were, but was distracted by the sound of a soft thump followed by some muffled shuffling on the other side of the door.

There was another noise-- the sound of something heavy being moved aside-- and the door opened a sliver.

“Hey bro.”

Even with only a partial view, Papyrus could tell Sans’ easy smile was strained, the expression forced to appear casual, and pulled too tight around the edges.  The giddy afterglow of his several weeks away tempered quickly, and he felt his unease grow as something small but heavy began to rise up within him.  Guilt.

“Sans! I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I probably should’ve called…”

“No, no it’s fine.  I guess I lost track of...”  

Sans trailed off, making a sound like clearing his throat as he opened the door wider, stepping back to let Papyrus in.  

The inside of the house was dark.  All the curtains the could be closed, had been, and the mess strewn across the living room floor was… impressive, even for Sans.  

Papyrus lifted his suitcase over the threshold, trying not to let the growing knot of concern he was feeling show on his face.  He couldn’t help but feel disoriented.  What he was seeing didn’t make sense-- none of it was adding up.  He knew that Sans had always been… unique, and adjusting to life above ground had posed its own special set of challenges for him, but they’d been working on them, diligently, and they’d been doing so well.  Things had  _ been _ bad, but they’d improved, so much so that when Mettaton had invited Papyrus to join him on the European leg of his tour,  _ Sans _ had been the one to insist that Papyrus go.  They’d talked every day-- or, almost every day-- since he’d left.  Sans had sounded good, he’d  _ looked _ good.  He was getting out (on his own terms), and keeping commitments to Toriel and Undyne and Alphys.  There had been a few rough days, but that was to be expected, and they’d always been able to talk things out and regain an even keel.  

Glancing around the living room, Papyrus tried to pick out the three foot square of clean space Sans had created so that Papyrus wouldn’t suspect anything during their face-time calls.  

“How was the trip home? First class, right? I’d say that Mettaton loves to spoil you, but you need the legroom, I bet.  Y’know I heard that when Monster Kid flew-”

“Sans...”

Sans had been chatting casually, slipping into idle conversation easily, but when Papyrus interrupted him he studiously avoided making eye contact, his gaze pinned to an indistinct place on the floor.

“Here, uh… let me help you with your stuff.”

Papyrus let Sans take his suitcase without any resistance, following him reluctantly into the kitchen, where the reality of the situation made itself abruptly and abundantly clear.

The kitchen was beyond anything he could’ve prepared for.  The smell alone made him unconsciously raise his hand to his face, the combination of take-out food containers, and some valiant attempts at home cooking left in various states of decomposition, covering every available inch of counter space.  A TV, most of the packaging still cluttered around it, sat next to the full sink, its thick tangle of cables running across the middle of floor, heedless of the tripping hazard it created.  

He hadn’t been gone  _ that _ long, he found himself rationalizing in his head.  How could it possibly have gotten this bad?

“You moved the TV?” It was the most trivial thing to pick out, but for whatever reason it was where Papyrus’ focus had chosen to settle.

“Ah, no… that’s a new one, heh.  It was on sale.” As if that was all the explanation it required, Sans unceremoniously shoved some things off the kitchen table, creating a corner of space where he gestured for Papyrus to sit. “So! tell me everything about your trip.  How was… all of Europe?”

Papyrus couldn’t move.  If he took a step into the kitchen, if he sat down at the table with him, that would be accepting this as the new normal.  All the effort they’d made, every step they’d taken, all the work that had gone into making a life for themselves above ground…

A small voice somewhere in the deep recess of his skull piped up, correcting him: all the work that had gone into making a life for  _ him _ self above ground.

“Bro? C'mon, sit down.  I want to hear all about it.  Y'know, I saw some of the pictures on your Instagram, it looked like-”

“Sans.”

Papyrus had to struggle to keep his voice under control, to not let anything panicked or drastic show.  

Sans squirmed, looking away quickly, shoulders hunching as he crammed his hands deep into his pockets.

“Hey, look, if you’re mad: I’m sorry about the empties.  I'll pick ‘em up.  You know we get a refund for recycling them up here? Five cents a can...”

It was too much.  The complete disconnect between the physical manifestation of everything that was wrong spread across every surface of their house, and the casual conversation from the kitchen table as if nothing in the world had changed.  Without feeling himself move Papyrus found himself on the stairs going up to his bedroom.  He briefly noted that the walls of the hallway had been gouged, as if something large had been dragged against them, but he couldn’t focus on that right now, fumbling for his phone as he opened his bedroom door, finding his room, blessedly, exactly as he had left it.  

It took a few rings, but she picked up, her voice soft but warm on the other end of the line.

“Papyrus, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon! How was-”

“Toriel, are you busy?” He’d sat down heavily on his bed, the hand that wasn’t holding his phone gripping his knee to keep it from shaking. “Can you come over? Or... can I come see you? I don’t know.  It’s Sans, um…” he let his voice falter, words trailing off as the guilt began to spiral into an anxious panic. “It’s bad.” 


End file.
